


Scratching the Surface

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:17:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An incident or two cause Jim and Blair to take a look at their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratching the Surface

**Author's Note:**

> A friend offered up a little writing exercise: Jim and Blair in an elevator, and the line, "I bet you really didn't want to hear that." Throw that in with an incident that I heard about, and this is what I got. Just a quick piece that I decided to share. 

## Scratching the Surface

by JC

Author's webpage: <http://www.skeeter63.org/jayci/>

Author's disclaimer: The characters from the TV series "The Sentinel" are not my property, and I am not making money off of them. That's it.

* * *

Scratching the Surface by J.C. 

Jim wasn't in any hurry as he made his way down the hall to his apartment. He had saved Sandburg for last, and he wasn't looking forward to the confrontation. He was still a bit pissed himself, but after spending the last half hour calming his neighbors down, at least he no longer had the urge to smack somebody around. 

Now to break the news to his partner. 

He took a deep breath before opening the door, dialing his hearing up a notch to listen for signs of life over the music that Blair had playing a little too loudly. Celtic music. 

For some reason, when classes had started in the fall, Blair had decided that each week he would explore a different musical culture until the winter break began. Listening to old favorites, searching around for new selections. Not just for pleasure... he'd been taking notes periodically as he hummed or danced along, saying that maybe one day he might use it for a class exercise. 

Bracing himself, Jim went inside. There he found Blair both humming _and_ dancing. Well, as close to dancing as one can get while sitting. Humming, with shoulders and hips and feet all moving, smiling at Jim as he came through the door. 

"Hey! You're late. I would have fixed dinner, but I figured you'd never learn your lesson if I bailed you out. So, for your own good, the kitchen awaits." 

"Hey, Chief." 

Jim moved over to stand next to Blair. One tapping foot stopped tapping so that Blair could run it up the inside of Jim's leg, his sock-covered toes tickling the bulge of Jim's soft cock through the denim of Jim's jeans. 

"You okay, Jim?" 

"Yeah, why?" 

"Well, for about six weeks now, the first thing you've done as soon as you've gotten home is give me a kiss. I sort of saw it as a way for you to mark your territory... You know, swapping spit as a means to claim me, give you an opportunity to sniff around, see if anybody's been a bit too close, that sort of thing. But I liked it." 

"Sandburg, did it ever occur to you that I was simply greeting the man I love at the end of the day?" 

Giving Jim a classic 'no shit' look, Blair replied in a slow, patient tone, "Yes, Jim. So, my point being, you walked in, said 'Hey Chief', and you're just standing there. End of greeting. And any other time, if I had spouted off a line of anthrobabble like I just did, I would have gotten at least a growl. You don't like anthrobabble, Jim. _And_ any other time, if I had spent more than two seconds making your dick hard with my toes, we would have both been naked in thirty seconds flat. So, what gives?" 

Sighing, Jim finally sat down. "You need to come with me downstairs." 

Suddenly totally on alert, Blair sat forward, a serious expression on his face. "Why? What's going on?" 

"Chief, just put your shoes on and come with me. I'll tell you all about it, but you have to promise to stay calm." 

"Stay calm?!" Blair exclaimed, all of a sudden not calm at _all_ as he dropped his book, and leaned over to grab his sneakers. "Jim, if you don't tell me what the fuck is going on, I'm going to _calmly_ torture you to death." 

So, Jim told him. 

Told him about coming home, ready for the long Thanksgiving weekend, his first since joining Major Crimes. Ready to walk through the door and kiss Blair, and keep on kissing him for the next four days straight, (and if some of Blair's fancy footwork got thrown in, all the better), only to be distracted by an irritating scratching noise and some giggling. 

Told him that once he turned his attention to his surroundings and _away_ from who was waiting for him upstairs, he noticed the situation in the parking lot, and quickly found the source of both the scratching _and_ the giggling. 

Told him how some bratty monster of a kid had undertaken some stupid mission to deface every available surface with profanity. Not some hostile teen, not some smart-alec pre-teen, some _kid_ , some _seven-year-old kid_ had gone around with a rock and scratched curse words on all of the cars in a two and a half block graffiti spree, while dragging his six year old little sister around trying to teach her how to spell. 

Told all about how easily he had pictured throttling the kid especially when he had the nerve to be stubbornly unafraid facing Big Bad Detective Ellison, even while his little sister immediately burst into tears when facing Big Bad Detective Ellison. And how close he had come to arresting the father of said children, under Penal Code 601.25 -- pissing off a police officer, because the jerk hadn't felt the slightest bit of responsibility for the damage his children had caused. 

Told him that it had taken some time to go around to the owners of the cars and explain the situation, after threatening the unconcerned parent with civil, if not criminal, actions on behalf of the neighborhood. That he had felt especially terrible telling Mrs. Winkler about what had happened to her Oldsmobile that she only used to go to church on Sundays. 

And finally, he told him that the precious Volvo had not escaped the demon child's attention. 

Jim actually had to run to catch up to Blair at the elevator, once he could see through the dust that Blair had left behind with his sudden departure. 

"Chief, calm down." 

"I'm calm, Jim. I'm just going to go look at it," Blair said, tapping his foot impatiently. 

Jim resisted the urge to tell Blair they could just take the stairs... anything to delay the inevitable. "The guy's insurance company is taking care of it. All you have to do is go through our insurance company, and we'll take it to the shop and have it repainted." 

"I know it's not that big a deal. I've lost a car to bullet holes, a few bad words won't kill me, but damn, why the _car_?" Then he stopped, eyeing Jim with a laser-blue gaze. "This isn't some kind of November Fools gag, is it Jim?" 

"Sandburg, there's no such thing as 'November Fools'." 

"I know, but it's the day before Thanksgiving, and you might have some weird Ellison ritual that I don't know about. This is the first Thanksgiving that you haven't worked since I've known you." 

"No, Chief. No gag," Jim said as they finally got on the elevator. 

"Shit, shit, shit!" Each word was punctuated by a kick on the inside of the elevator by a size eight and a half Nike. 

"Chief, stop it before you break this thing." 

Blair gave Jim a fierce glare. "Oh, _please_ , you can't break an elevator by kicking." And to prove his point, he resumed the activity, giving each word the appropriate emphasis. "You. Can't. Break. An. El--" 

The sickly sound of the elevator's motor winding down before it suddenly came to a stop halted Blair in mid-word and mid-kick. 

"I bet you really didn't want to hear _that_ ," Jim said. 

"You better be nice to me, Ellison. I might not aim for your shoes when I start throwing up in here. There _is_ a traumatic elevator incident in my past, you know." At Jim's stricken look, Blair continued, "Oh hey, I'm sorry, I'm fine. I was just being pissy. Not a happy camper, right now." 

"Give it a minute. It's an old elevator; it acts up a lot, anyway. If somebody on one of the floors pushes a button, it'll probably start right back up." 

"Great. When old Mrs. Winkler leaves on Sunday to go to church, we'll get outta here. Oh, wait. Except she _won't_ be going to church because some idiot kid scratched..." He looked up questioningly at Jim. 

"'Shit'." 

Rolling his eyes, Blair went on, "...some idiot kid scratched _shit_ all over her car." He started to kick the elevator again, but instead he slumped to the floor. 

Jim stepped over and sat down next to him. One large hand rubbing soothingly along Blair's leg. 

"So, what exactly did the little darling scratch on _my_ car, anyway?" 

Jim hesitated, then said, "We're going to get it taken care of, Chief." 

"Ellison..." 

"Cocksucker." 

"Shit." 

"It's not a personal statement, Blair. It was just a random choice. He's just a kid, acting up, not making judgment calls." 

"Yeah, but still." 

"Yeah. I know." 

"No you don't. I've never been in a relationship with a man before. I mean, the relationships that I've been in haven't been _relationships_. And this _is_. You and me. I liked you before I loved you. I loved you before I ever... sucked your cock. It's not... I don't..." 

"Chief, you and me are fine. It's just a kid that doesn't know better, and he doesn't know anything _about_ you." 

"Kids that don't know better too often grow up into adults who don't know better. What we have is not cheap and sordid just because we're both men." 

Jim drew Blair closer, kissing him softly, rubbing his knee through a hole in his sweats. "No, it's... _right_." 

"You think?" 

He sounded so desperate and unsure that Jim's stomach felt like the elevator had just dropped twenty floors. 

"I _know_. You gotta believe that." 

"I do. It's just that it's only been six weeks, and we seem to always end up having sex, and I'm not exactly known for my single-minded dedication where people are concerned." 

"Six weeks as _lovers_... six weeks of _mind-blowing_ sex... but _years_ together. Years that you've proven your dedication to me." 

"Man, I'm _never_ letting you go." 

" _Now_ you're talking." 

One kiss, Jim thought. One kiss to seal the deal, to make Blair feel better. One kiss to make up for the kiss that he had skipped when getting home before. 

One kiss that turned to two, that turned to several, until nipples were being tweaked, and cocks were being rubbed, and Jim was trying desperately not to make a wet spot on the front of his jeans, all while still _kissing_ , and then Blair reached in and pulled him _out_ , zipper down but still buttoned, open enough to get his hard, aching dick out of his pants so that Blair could get it into his mouth... so that Blair could breathe beautiful life into the word 'cocksucker'... a few slurpy licks around the head and Jim was waiting for the plunge, waiting for Blair to go _down_ , every muscle in his body tense with anticipation, his breath stored up for that first gasp at the hot wetness that would envelop him, his toes curling as Blair licked just a little longer, and then... 

The incredibly unwelcome sound of the elevator whirring to life. 

"I'll bet you _really_ didn't want to hear that," Blair said, licking his lips. 

Jim growled, Blair laughed, and they hastily rearranged themselves before the elevator doors opened. 

Later, going back up, they took the stairs. 

Two at a time. 

_the end_

Note: The vandalism incident is true. It happened to a co-worker when a seven and six year old decided to scratch bad words on cars, doors, anything they could. It was on my mind as I sat down to write, so I used it. 


End file.
